


Lost and Found

by Atisenia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Fluff, Holidays, Humor, Lost Thorin, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Romance, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: Thorin’s first holiday in decades was goinggreat: he was stuck in the Shire instead of relaxing in the Blue Mountains, his map was clearly faulty, and now there was an impertinent hobbit telling him he had gotten lost.He should have just stayed in Erebor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seaweedredandbrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaweedredandbrown/gifts).



> A very, _very_ , **very** late birthday present. I'm not kidding - it was supposed to be posted in May. *sobs* But then it was also supposed to be a fluffy 2k ficlet, so... I guess there's that.
> 
> I hope you like this one, even though it is so late!^^;

Thorin did not like the Shire.

It looked like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a giant village or a town, there was no rhyme or reason to the infrastructure, and the roads were frankly appalling.

It was also annoyingly green and cheerful.

Thorin grumbled and walked past yet another identical Hobbit-hole. If he were feeling generous, he would perhaps say that at least the Hobbits had the sense to build their homes underground, like reasonable people.

He was not feeling generous.

There was a large rock by the end of the road and Thorin searched his coat for the map he’d squeezed in there, hoping that it might be used as a landmark. No such luck. The rock looked just like any other rock he’d walked past, and it didn’t call to him at all, like stone normally did.

He paused by the infuriating rock and actually debated calling Dís and telling her that he was... well, _not_ lost. Definitely not. Thorin Oakenshield did not get lost!

Well, all right, so maybe there was this one time in Dale, but that was only _once_ , thank you. Maybe twice, if you counted that... _incident_ in Gondor, though it was definitely Dwalin's fault. And then, if he were entirely truthful, there was this one time when...

Okay, so maybe Thorin had a problem. More like an inconvenience, really. He was still not calling his sister. She would tease him mercilessly — after she had already stopped laughing — which might just use up his phone battery.

No, he was going to deal with this... situation on his own. He was not going to endure any more ridicule from his treacherous family.

And he might just wander around this Mahal-forsaken place until he met his death, just to make sure of that.

"Hello there, Master Dwarf," someone spoke in a gentle voice from over Thorin's right shoulder.

Thorin turned, blinked, and looked down. There was a hobbit looking up at him with an earnest expression. He resembled any other Hobbit Thorin had seen in this maze of a town. Though perhaps his eyes held more curiosity in them, rather than the wariness most Hobbits tended to greet him with, and his smile was more natural.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yes?" he asked coldly.

The hobbit's smile dimmed, but didn't entirely disappear.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have passed this street four times in the last hour," the hobbit said. "Are you lost?"

Thorin narrowed his eyes more.

"Have you been spying on me, Hobbit?" he growled.

 _Now_ the hobbit's smile disappeared. He frowned and crossed his arms.

"And what exactly do you take me for, _sir_?" he asked, a warning spark in his eyes. "One of those busybodies with no manners like the Sackville-Baggins?"

Thorin did not know who the Sackville-Baggins were and didn't much care to find out.

"And how exactly have you come by this knowledge?" he asked with one of his most intimidating glares.

"I live here," the hobbit said. There was no sign of the kindness he'd greeted him with. Instead, there was something hard and unyielding in his voice that Thorin couldn't help but grudgingly respect. "You walked past my front gate several times while fiddling with the tourist map. I drew my own conclusions."

"Did you," Thorin said flatly. He levelled the hobbit with a searching look and raised a dubious eyebrow.

The hobbit's eyes met his and held. They were glaring at each other in the middle of a street until a lone, Hobbit-sized car forced them to move.

As soon as the car disappeared, the hobbit scoffed.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said mockingly. "Clearly I was mistaken. You obviously chose to walk in circles here, which I can’t really blame you for. It’s a lovely area. I’m sure you’re not going to keep walking until you starve to death. Good day!”

The hobbit turned on his heels and started walking down the street, his strangely hairy feet bouncing to some unknown rhythm. Thorin glared at him, though any satisfaction he might have gained from it disappeared when his stomach rumbled loudly. It was obviously the hobbit’s fault for mentioning food to him.

Thorin weighed his options. He could continue wandering around this terrible place, which would probably (inevitably) lead to him calling Dís (or, more likely, Dís calling _him_ ), which would just give his family more material to mock him. _Or_ he could accept the help of this strange hobbit, who he would never see again, and avoid the mocking.

Still, Thorin hesitated before calling the hobbit back.

“Wait!”

The hobbit stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Thorin’s jaw twitched and he barely stopped himself from scowling.

“Yes, Master Dwarf?” the hobbit asked innocently.

Thorin pursed his lips and was about to say something scathing, but then his stomach rumbled again. He sighed.

“I might require your assistance,” he admitted grudgingly.

The hobbit turned and crossed his arms.

"Well, couldn't you just say so from the beginning?" he asked with a frown that Thorin did his best to match. After a while the hobbit, inexplicably, smiled. "Come, I'll make us tea and you'll show me that map of yours."

Thorin's stomach rumbled yet again at the mere mention of tea and he glared down at it.

"I have pie," the hobbit added and when Thorin looked up, there was an amused little smile on the creature's face.

Thorin groaned but gave in.

"Fine," he grumbled.

The hobbit beamed at him.

 

* * *

 

The pie was delicious. It was fruity and crusty and Thorin would very much want another piece. He had already eaten three pieces, however, which was probably more than he deserved after treating the hobbit with unfounded suspicion.

The hobbit didn't seem to mind.

"Go on, take another one," he said, amused. "I like baking, but I can never eat all of it. I end up giving it to my neighbours more often than not."

Thorin looked longingly at the pie.

"And they won't mind?" he still asked.

The hobbit snorted.

"Believe me, Master Dwarf, they think I spoil their children with sweets enough as it is."

Thorin let out a vague murmur of assent, though his attention was already back on the pie.

"It's Thorin," he said absently, helping himself to another piece. "Thorin Oakenshield."

"Bilbo Baggins," the hobbit responded. "At your service."

"Mmm," Thorin muttered around a huge mouthful of pie. He closed his eyes and savoured it.

“So,” the hobbit — Bilbo — started, “what are you doing in the Shire, Thorin? Are you here on business?”

Thorin groaned and reluctantly abandoned his pie long enough to give an answer.

"Vacation," he muttered.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. They nearly disappeared under his curly fringe.

"You... you don't seem very happy about it."

Thorin only let out a disapproving sound and took a large gulp of his tea. He couldn't quite help the wince at the aftertaste of it. He would have much preferred coffee, but he probably shouldn't be picky.

The hobbit kept staring at him and Thorin sighed.

"We're actually here to see the Blue Mountains and the ancient kingdom of Belegost," he explained. "The Shire was simply on the way."

That, and there was no airport closer to the mountain range. There was also a direct flight from Dale to Bree and Dís had insisted that they should take it.

"The boys have never been in the air," she had said when Thorin had suggested a more sensible option of travelling by train. "They will be excited," she had said. "And it's much faster, so they won't have time to damage the plane," she had said and then hesitated before admitting, "Probably."

As it turned out, the boys had not damaged the plane, but they _had_ managed to annoy absolutely everyone on it with their antics, which Thorin had been not at all happy to point out to his sister.

He had nearly gotten thrown out of the plane for his trouble.

"We?" Bilbo asked.

"Sorry?"

"You said ‘we’. As in ‘we came’. Who's ‘we’? Do I need to look for them too?"

He smiled at that, and there was a mischievous spark in his eyes.

Thorin groaned.

"No," he said firmly and sighed. "I'm here with my sister and her sons. We’re actually staying in Bree, but they insisted on going to see the farming exhibit."

"And they left you alone with bad directions?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin glared at him.

"Don't push your luck, Hobbit!" he growled. Bilbo just shrugged, completely unconcerned by the warning in Thorin's voice. Thorin gave up. "I have no interest in farming."

"But your nephews do? Farming doesn't seem like a Dwarven thing."

Thorin grimaced.

"No," he admitted. "That's why I didn't go with them. And my nephews just wanted an excuse to cause some mischief."

"Ah." Bilbo smiled at him with understanding and pushed the remaining pie further towards him. Thorin didn't need any more encouragement. "And what is it that _you_ wanted to see?"

Thorin picked at his pie and grumbled. Frankly, he had not wanted to see anything at all in this accursed place, but Dís had glared at him, thrown him a map, and told him to go play tourist. Thorin knew better than to argue with her when she got like that. She had too much blackmail material.

So Thorin had picked a place that seemed least unpleasant — a golf course that had apparently seen battle — and headed that way.

Of course the map had turned out to be completely useless, as was evident from his current situation.

"The golf course," he muttered at last.

The hobbit's eyes went wide and his mouth moved soundlessly a few times, before he found his voice.

"That... that's on the other side of the Shire!" he said incredulously and shook his head. "What... _how_ did you end up in Hobbiton?!"

He sounded genuinely perplexed by that, which only made Thorin purse his lips and glare at the pie.

"Clearly the map is faulty," he muttered.

The hobbit blinked at him and then had the gall to actually smirk.

"Clearly," Bilbo said. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea.

Thorin clenched his jaw.

“So will you help me or not?” he asked through gritted teeth.

The hobbit sent him a look over the rim of his cup and raised an eyebrow.

“Finish your pie first,” he said, the infuriating creature.

The suggestion wasn’t altogether terrible, though. In fact, it was rather... pleasant, as much as Thorin loathed to admit it. So he kept the grumbling to minimum while stuffing his mouth full of delicious pie.

“I imagine you still want to see the golf course?” Bilbo asked when they were both done with their teas and pies.

Thorin frowned. He didn’t _really_ feel like it. He was not a fan of golf, and he’d seen many more impressive battlefields than a valley in the Shire, of all places. However, he was also wary of going back to Bree empty-handed. The boys would want to hear about it, and would be very disappointed if he failed to provide answers. Dís would laugh in his face, and all this... familiarizing with a cheeky hobbit would be for nothing.

“You imagine correctly,” Thorin muttered.

Bilbo let out a soft laugh and stood up.

“Come on then,” he said. “We’ll take the car.”

Thorin frowned and crossed his arms, settling himself deeper into his chair.

“I would rather walk,” he said.

The hobbit pursed his lips and tapped his foot impatiently.

“You are more than welcome to try,” he said. “The sun will be setting soon, though. Are you sure you want to search for the right path in the dark?”

There was a playful glint in Bilbo's eyes that Thorin immediately resented. He would be _just fine_ , thank you very much!

Well, all right, so maybe finding his way in the dark would not be any easier, but the hobbit had no business remarking on that.

"Also, the last bus to Bree departs in a little over an hour," Bilbo continued, unaffected by the glare Thorin was sending in his direction. "You're not going to make it on foot."

Thorin glared a little harder, ready to take the hobbit up on that challenge, but the thought of his sister's snickering made him change his mind. He sighed.

"Have it your way," he said, resigning himself to his fate.

 

* * *

 

The car was... not exactly small. It wasn't big either. Certainly not like those monstrosities Men and Elves insisted on driving (especially Elves). It was a comfortable and sensible car in a neutral blue colour, and the hobbit looked absolutely minuscule in it.

"Do all Hobbit cars have this much space or are you just really small?" Thorin asked, comfortably stretching his legs in front of him.

Bilbo frowned at him.

"I will have you know that I'm a very respectable size for a Hobbit!" he said and waved at another hobbit walking along the road. "It's all the other races who insist on being unreasonably tall."

"Mmm," Thorin muttered, not wanting to agree with Bilbo, but still admitting to himself that he had a point. Men and Elves could be so superior about their height, as if it made them better people.

It didn't.

“Do you even see anything in front of you?” Thorin asked. The hobbit was sitting rather low in his seat. It was surely below the hood level.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you!” Bilbo said drily.

“Because it would be very unfortunate if you ran over an unsuspecting hobbit just because you can’t see so close to the ground.”

The hobbit took a deep breath and pulled over.

"Right," he said flatly. "Do you want to drive?"

"I might."

"Because I would really enjoy watching you drive in circles in the dark," Bilbo said and glared at him. "But by all means, be my guest. I have all night!"

Thorin grumbled and crossed his arms. He was almost tempted to take the hobbit up on his offer, just to annoy him. He really did have to catch the last bus if he wanted to avoid ridicule from Dís though. And as much as he'd like to think otherwise, he probably _would_ end up driving in circles. It wouldn’t be his fault, of course. It was this stupid place that refused to make any sense.

So he decided to play nice.

“I’m sure you won’t hit anyone,” he said and tried smiling. Judging by the hobbit’s narrowing eyes, it might not have worked. “After all, you managed to avoid doing that for this long. Your luck will probably continue.”

Bilbo took a deep breath and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a plea to Yavanna before putting the car in motion. They drove in silence for a little while and Thorin was getting uneasy.

"Don't you have music in this thing?" he muttered. That, at least, might have been a nice distraction. Or a complete disaster if it turned out the hobbit liked Men's late disco. Or worse: Elvish ballads.

Bilbo let out an exasperated groan and hit the brakes with a bit more force than was really necessary. Thorin graciously refrained from pointing that out.

"We're here," the hobbit said through gritted teeth and left the car without so much as looking at Thorin.

Thorin rolled his eyes and followed.

They stopped at the edge of something that was undeniably a large golf course. Thorin blinked at it and grimaced.

"Well, that's... disappointing," he said. He did open the camera app on his phone though to show Dís and the boys later.

Bilbo snorted from beside him.

"And what exactly did you expect a golf course to be?" he asked. "A minefield?"

Thorin made an interested sound. That would perhaps make it marginally more interesting.

The hobbit sighed.

"Right," he said. "Come with me. There's a statue."

He started walking and Thorin had no other choice but to follow.

After a while, they stopped before a very unimpressive statue. It was made of some common stone, possibly granite, and depicted a rather large hobbit on a horse. His expression was probably meant to look fierce, but instead Thorin found it rather comically distorted.

"Don't try to out-frown him," Bilbo said next to him. Thorin relaxed his brow that he had unknowingly furrowed. "It won't work."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. People have been trying to do that with little success since the statue was first erected. The fauntlings even make a game of it, making faces at him."

"Mmm..." Thorin hesitated and then took a picture. Maybe if Dís saw how ridiculous the Shire really was, they would finally move on to the Blue Mountains. "He's not very impressive."

Bilbo crossed his arms and pursed his lips as if offended on the statue's behalf, but after a moment he just sighed.

"He's not, is he?" he said. "It's not a very good liking. The original wooden one was much closer to the truth."

"And how do you know that?" Thorin asked with a frown.

Bilbo smiled.

"He's my ancestor," he said and Thorin's eyebrows went up in shock. "Bandobras Took. My mum used to tell me all kinds of stories about him when I was just a little faunt..." He looked at the statue with fondness before turning to Thorin. "Why did you decide to see this place if you knew you were going to be disappointed? I could show you much more interesting places."

"Mmm..." Thorin looked at the hobbit with consideration. "That is true."

Bilbo's eyes went comically wide and then he glared at Thorin. He did it much better than his ancestor.

"No," he said firmly and stomped his foot on the ground.

"It makes sense," Thorin said with a shrug.

"It really doesn't!" Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Look. I helped you because you looked like you needed help, but I really don't fancy turning into your guide!"

"You wouldn't," Thorin assured him.

They stared at each other for a moment before Bilbo relented.

"Oh, fine!" he said and threw his phone at Thorin. "With your sense of direction, you'll probably get lost again!"

Thorin grumbled under his breath and cursed the insolence of the hobbit, but put his number in Bilbo's phone and called himself to get Bilbo's.

"Let's just go and catch that bus," he muttered, giving Bilbo’s phone back to the hobbit.

 

* * *

 

Dís wasn't very impressed with him when he finally came back to their rented cottage in Bree. He might have gotten... turned around once or twice on his way from the bus, but that had been entirely because of confusing street markings, so he did not count it as another incident. Just... unfortunate occurrence. That was all it was.

He did not mention that occurrence to his sister, though she seemed to know anyway if her infuriating smirk was anything to go by.

"Took a long way 'round?" she asked innocently, though there was familiar mischief in her eyes.

Thorin sighed and sat on his thankfully reasonably sized bed.

"Maybe I fancied a stroll," he muttered and bent to take off his boots.

Dís only raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him and that was that.

The boys, on the other hand, asked endless questions.

“Was it awesome?” Kíli asked, throwing himself on Thorin’s bed. “Was it better than Azanulbizar?”

“Are they doing reenactments?” Fíli asked excitedly. “We should participate!”

“They aren’t,” Thorin said, suddenly relieved that the golf course had turned out to be largely uninteresting. He still cringed when he thought about that one time they had visited the gates of Mordor and the boys had gotten involved in the reenactment of the great battle that had taken place there an age ago. They were skilled warriors, that much was true. Also true was the fact that they didn't need to actually demonstrate those skills in a pretend battle against no real enemies. As a result, Thorin had spent two miserable days trying to prevent his nephews from killing other participants, each other or, quite possibly, themselves.

He was not keen on repeating that experience anytime soon. Possibly not ever. Definitely not this century.

"It is an actual golf course," he said. "There's an ugly statue next to it. _Definitely_ no reenactments."

The boys let out disappointed groans and started talking about _improving_ the blasted golf course. Thorin resolved to stay as far away from it as possible. Just in case.

"Did you actually see it or did you just read it in some tourist guide?" Dís asked, her eyebrow raised again, and a quirk to her lips.

Thorin frowned, not so much at her words but at not having thought of doing just that.

Well, at least he had proof now. He took out his phone and showed her the photos.

"All right, I see your point," Dís said, frowning at the statue. "This isn't good at all. What is he even doing with his face?"

Which of course led to Fíli and Kíli confiscating the phone and trying to recreate the hobbit's expression. Thorin shook his head at them and hoped that the next day wouldn't bring any more pointless tourist attractions.

 

* * *

 

Well, that was obviously too much to hope for.

Thorin grumbled as he dragged along behind his family, whom he was going to disinherit one of these days. There was a harvest festival in the Shire, and Thorin was dying of boredom. The gardening tools sold at the stalls were far inferior to anything of Dwarven make, the crowd of Hobbits reached ridiculous proportions, and the contests were incomprehensible to him. Who would even want to race other people trapped in a potato sack?

Fíli and Kíli, apparently. Thorin grimaced when he saw his nephews enthusiastically put on the sacks and stand in line. He expected the hobbits participating in the race to protest their unfair advantage, but if anything, they looked even more determined to win.

Which might very easily happen since Kíli managed to fall before the race had even begun.

Thorin turned to Dís and threw her a meaningful look.

"They're all yours," he said.

Dís shrugged and popped another cherry into her mouth. Just where she had gotten them Thorin had no idea.

"Not _all_ mine," she said. "I rather think Víli had a hand in making them happen." She smirked at him. "Or, well, not a _hand_."

"Dís," Thorin started in alarm. "What. _No_."

"He was quite enthusiastic about it too, if I recall," she continued. Thorin covered his ears and wished he could drown his brain in bleach. He didn't wait for his sister to continue (and she would. She definitely would) and executed a strategic retreat. "Don't get lost!" Dís called after him and he just walked faster.

He didn't stop walking until he deemed it a safe distance from both the boys and their antics, and Dís and her inappropriate comments. He looked around then, but didn't recognize any of the surroundings from his previous visit. He shrugged it off. He was probably safe to wander around as long as he stayed within the confines of the crowd.

Which didn't pose a challenge at all. There were Hobbits everywhere. Groups of them seemed to pop out of nowhere, as if they grew out of the ground like their precious vegetables. Wherever Thorin looked, there was a Hobbit. Several of them, most of the time. There was even one when he looked down: a child walking backwards in front of him and matching him frown for frown until her mother called her back. Thorin almost expected to see Hobbits falling from the sky. Just to be thorough.

No, staying in the crowd was not a challenge. What did, however, turn out to be challenging was actually _moving_.

Thorin was no stranger to crowds. They were practically written into his job description. And yet, not even in front of the Black Gate, trying to save unsuspecting people from getting their heads chopped off by two overeager dwarves, did Thorin feel this oppressively surrounded. He tried not to trip over any Hobbit children while looking for a place where he could actually breathe, and his scowl deepened with every step he took.

When Thorin finally found a relatively quiet spot under a small stage, his jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed, and his glare so vicious that the nearby hobbits gave him a wide berth. Which suited him just fine.

There was some silly vegetable contest on the stage and Thorin happily tuned it out. Until a familiar name caught his attention.

"... Bilbo Baggins with his tomatoes!" the voice from the speakers announced and Thorin turned so fast his braids smacked him in the face.

And yes, there he was! Centre stage, next to a plump hobbit with an ancient microphone, stood Bilbo Baggins, proudly presenting a basket of tomatoes to the audience.  His smile was radiant.

"Thank you, Hamfast," he said and accepted a trophy the other hobbit gave him. It was very ugly. "Wow," Bilbo said, turning it this way and that. "I can definitely say I don't have one like this yet."

It must have been a joke that Thorin didn't get because most of the hobbits gathered under the stage started laughing. The hobbits _on_ the stage collectively glared. Especially one female hobbit with an already sour face.

Thorin waited until Bilbo collected congratulatory handshakes and pats on the back before approaching him.

"Is there a point to this whole farce?" he asked.

The hobbit jumped with a silent squeak, nearly losing his winning tomatoes, and then turned to glower at Thorin.

"You!" he hissed.

"No, I'm fairly certain this silly contest had nothing to do with me."

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms. It was a rather impressive feat, seeing as he had his tomato basket in one hand and the ugly trophy in the other.

"I will have you know that this contest is not silly at all!"

"Really?" Thorin asked and raised his eyebrows. "Because I thought it had you comparing vegetablmhgf".

He glared down at the hobbit who had just shoved a tomato into Thorin's mouth. The insolence!

"Here, have a treat," Bilbo said cheerfully. Thorin glared more. "Eat it and then tell me what you're doing here."

Thorin had to (grudgingly) admit that the tomato was good. It was juicy and sweet, and Thorin had three more before he realized what he was doing. It made Bilbo awfully smug, but Thorin resolutely ignored it.

He did tell the hobbit why he was in the Shire again, and how his nephews didn't care what the outing actually involved, as long as there was ‘festival’ in the name. Bilbo, in turn, told him how he always won the contest with his tomatoes, but how it wasn't even a challenge anymore because all the real competitors had quit long ago, leaving only the most spiteful ones. The trophy was apparently getting uglier and uglier — most likely to discourage him from competing. Thorin could see that it was not going to happen.

"It's not like the judges are playing favourites," Bilbo explained, leading Thorin to an ice cream stand. "We don't even enter our vegetables under our names."

Thorin murmured absently, more interested in ice cream flavours. The chocolate chip one looked very promising.

"...use their own containers..."

Thorin really hoped it didn't have vegetables in it.

"...and then of course there's the ritual sacrifice of an innocent, which is usually a child..."

Thorin hummed absently. It did rather look like chocolate but then—

Wait.

"You _what_?" he asked turning to face Bilbo with a murderous scowl already in place.

The hobbit was smirking though, and only raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, so you _do_ listen?" he asked.

Thorin glared at him. He absolutely refused to feel like a pebble caught daydreaming during history lessons!

"What can I get you?" asked the lass managing the stall. When Thorin looked at her, she had her lips pursed hard, as if trying not to laugh.

Thorin glared at her too.

"The usual for me, Prim, thank you,” Bilbo said. "And for Thorin here..."

"Chocolate chip," Thorin pronounced and dared the hobbits to laugh at him.

They didn't.

Prim nodded seriously and scooped up a portion of deliciously looking chocolate goods before giving it to Thorin. Then she grabbed another cone and filled it with—

"What _is_ that?" Thorin asked, scowling at the green monstrosity. He also jealously guarded his own ice cream, just in case someone decided to exchange it for this abomination.

Bilbo calmly received his ice cream and they both paid before the hobbit said, "Mint and chocolate chip."

Which only made Thorin eye it even more suspiciously.

"I'm not sure you're supposed to eat that.”

While the chocolate part of it was perfectly fine, it was a travesty to mix it with mint, of all things.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and led Thorin to a nearby table.

“It was fine the other times I ate it,” he said, taking a seat and motioning for Thorin to do the same.

Thorin wrinkled his nose.

“It’s green,” he said.

“You have no sense of adventure,” Bilbo told him and licked the green monstrosity with relish.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at him, almost expecting him to drop dead at any second. Which he didn’t, but that proved nothing.

He finally sat down and busied himself with his own delicious, reasonably flavoured and coloured ice cream.

“How long are you staying in Bree?” Bilbo asked. He had devoured almost all of his ice cream already.

“If it were up to me, we would be gone tomorrow morning,” Thorin said. It was not up to him, however. When Dís decided to do something, there was no power in Middle-earth that could stop her.

And so they stayed and played tourist until Dís got bored of both Bree and the Shire, or until the boys got banned from every establishment in the fifty mile radius.

Thorin wasn’t going to bet on which one would happen first.

“You’re not a fan of clean air, I see?” Bilbo said, licking his fingers after putting the last of his ice cream in his mouth.

Thorin still had more than a half of his portion.

He frowned at the hobbit.

“I have nothing against _air_ ,” he said. “It’s how you planned this area that makes no sense at all!”

Bilbo frowned at him and a funny light came into his eyes. Before Thorin knew what hit him, he was already deeply engrossed in a discussion about the merits and flaws of Dwarven and Hobbit architecture. They argued about it on their way to see some silly straw sculptures, they argued through a presentation of fruit preserves and they continued arguing over dinner that Bilbo had invited Thorin to in his smial. The different arguments still echoed in Thorin’s head when he joined Dís and the boys for the bus to Bree.

His sister eyed him suspiciously.

“You’re smiling,” she said.

“I do that sometimes,” Thorin said and immediately stopped smiling. He had not been aware of doing that.

Dís only narrowed her eyes at him, but was quickly distracted by Kíli trying to braid straw into Fíli’s hair.

Thorin’s phone vibrated with a text and he nearly dropped it in his haste to read the message.

 _I still think columns are a health hazard_.

Thorin was very glad that Dís was busy disciplining the boys and couldn’t see the huge grin that found its way onto his face.

 

* * *

 

The pattern continued for the next few days. Dís and the boys would go to the Shire for some inane activity or tourist "attraction", and they would drag Thorin with them. Thorin would inevitably lose interest very quickly (if there was any to lose in the first place) and wander off on his own. He would always run into Bilbo, completely on accident, and they would spend the day together. Bilbo would show him spots that were much more interesting than a golf course (though Thorin still pretended to dislike them, just on principle) and feed him some local food (prepared by himself more often than not), and they would talk.

Which surprised Thorin as much as it would have surprised anyone else who knew him. Talking didn't come easily to Thorin. He much preferred Dwalin's brand of communication by grunts and glares, though he was banned from using it in court. Public image, Balin had said.

The conversation with Bilbo seemed to flow effortlessly, however.

It was getting increasingly difficult to hide things from Dís.

"Thorin, are you even listening?" Bilbo asked impatiently from the other side of his dinner table.

Thorin turned to him with a glare in place. Bilbo was already frowning at him in turn, and his nose twitched like a little rabbit's. Thorin should not find it adorable, and the word should not even exist in his vocabulary.

Thorin glared harder.

Bilbo crossed his arms.

"Well?" the hobbit asked.

"I think I would have listened if you talked about interesting things," Thorin said.

Bilbo pursed his lips. There was now a wrinkle just over his nose that was not, in any way, adorable. Then his face smoothed over and he smiled.

"Actually," he started cheerfully, "I was just asking if you wanted dessert. I baked some muffins just this morning, but since you find them so uninteresting..."

Thorin groaned. The hobbit wasn’t playing fair.

"I would like the muffins, please."

"I don't know," Bilbo said, feigning worry. "Wouldn't want to force them on you..."

"I will listen to your silly story!"

Bilbo's smug little smirk was _definitely_ not adorable.

 

* * *

 

"Would you stop fussing?" A sharp tug at Thorin's hair signalled that the hobbit was completely serious and mightily annoyed.

Thorin frowned at the grass in front of him. If anyone had the right to be annoyed here, surely it should be him.

"I still don't see why you insist I have one," Thorin grumbled and moved his head around.

"Stop that!" Bilbo admonished, holding his hair tightly in his grip. “I should have invited your sister instead,” he muttered.

Thorin sighed, but kept his head still.

“I told you she took the boys to see a play in Bree,” he grumbled. “I don’t know why; it will be wasted on them.” He gritted his teeth when Bilbo pulled at his hair again.

He had no idea what had possessed him to agree to this madness. He shouldn't have let the hobbit touch his hair like that, should explain to him what hair meant to Dwarves. Instead he had obediently presented his hair to Bilbo's nimble fingers.

At least he'd grumbled about it, so he still had that bit of plausible deniability.

And it wasn't as if Bilbo actually braided his hair. He was just trying to secure the silly flower crown he'd made for Thorin so that it wouldn't fall off his head. While Thorin would have no problem with _that_ development, he wisely kept his opinion to himself. After he'd already mentioned it a dozen times, that is.

Another gentle tug at his hair almost made Thorin groan. The hobbit didn't know, _couldn't_ know what he was doing to him and Thorin should really put an end to this. And yet images came unbidden to him, of those same gentle fingers combing through his hair, parting it, braiding...

Oh, that was a dangerous train of thought.

"Are you done yet?" Thorin asked sharply, yet a bit breathless.

"Almost, just... hang on a second," Bilbo said absently and combed a few stray strands of Thorin's hair behind his ear. His fingers brushed against Thorin's ear and Thorin barely stopped himself from squirming.

"There," the hobbit finally announced and stepped in front of Thorin to admire his work. His cheeks were slightly pink, and he was wearing his own flower crown that easily stayed put on his head.

Thorin viciously dismissed any silly notion that he might be asked to return the favour. No thoughts of sinking his fingers in those soft curls.

Bilbo cleared his throat and Thorin snapped back to reality. The hobbit was holding a mirror for him.  Thorin could have sworn that the tips of his ears had not naturally been this red. Not that he looked.

"Tell me what you think," Bilbo said, pushing the mirror at him.

Thorin grudgingly took it and looked.

"I look like a weed-eater," he said.

This might not have been the best thing to say. Bilbo's expression had been teetering on fond, but now his face closed off and an angry wrinkle appeared between his brows.

"You'll just have to deal with it," he said and snatched the mirror from Thorin's hands. He turned and stomped off without so much as a glance in Thorin's direction.

Thorin grumbled and hurried after him.

They walked in silence for a while, Bilbo silently fuming. Thorin cleared his throat, but got ignored. He did it again and Bilbo sent him a glare.

"You secured it well," Thorin offered.

Bilbo looked like he actually considered pushing it off Thorin's head. Or possibly shave all his hair off. Thorin wasn't sure. But then the hobbit sighed and let his shoulders slump.

"It has to stay in place for the dancing," he said.

Thorin's legs suddenly turned into stone.

Bilbo went a few steps ahead before realizing that Thorin was not beside him anymore. He turned and raised his eyebrows.

"Dancing?" Thorin spat the word. Bilbo had the gall to smile at him.

"Don't worry, it's nothing fancy," the hobbit said. "Everyone mostly embarrasses themselves." He tried a reassuring smile, but it didn't reassure Thorin at all. "It's Flower Festival tradition."

It wasn't that Thorin didn't know how to dance. His position in Erebor required him to know all the traditional Dwarven dances as well as a few modern ones that his people insisted on torturing themselves with. It wasn't even that he didn't like dancing, because he did. In theory. In reality though, his experience boiled down to awkwardly formal dances with important, often drunk, dignitaries or even more awkward ones with potential consorts that felt more like a courtship display.

While neither of these two were particularly likely in the Shire, Thorin still didn't feel like embarrassing himself in front of Hobbits.

"We..." Bilbo started and cleared his throat. "We don't have to do that. I mean, there will be plenty of food and drink. And the fireworks to watch. We might not even have the time to dance, actually."

Thorin was tempted to accept that. So very, _very_ tempted. But one look at Bilbo's carefully blank face and his mostly forced smile, and Thorin knew he couldn't do that. He'd make a fool of himself in front of _Elves_ if it meant Bilbo would really smile at him again.

"I'm sure it won't be difficult to learn some steps," he said.

Bilbo blinked at him in surprise and then his face split into a wide, happy grin.

Oh yes, the entire population of Valinor could watch him now and he wouldn't care.

 

* * *

 

It turned out that Hobbit dances had very little in the way of steps. It was mostly swaying rhythmically to the music in a group of friends or twirling together with a partner in a way that seemed completely arbitrary. There were no clear rules that Thorin could see, no you-go-this-way-I-go-this-way-now-bow. Bilbo insisted there were rules for certain dances, and while Thorin could certainly see _some_ similarities in the way different Hobbits danced, it all still seemed very loosely interpreted.

Thorin found he quite liked that freedom.

"Oh, this is a good one!" Bilbo exclaimed beside him.

They had been sitting on one of the large benches set around what Bilbo called the Party Tree. There was enough food on the table in front of them to feed an army of Dwarves for three months. Ale had also been flowing freely, making the Hobbits even merrier than they already were from all the dancing.

So far, Thorin had not found it in him to join them. Bilbo had made no comment about it, keeping a happy smile on his face. He'd seemed perfectly content sitting beside Thorin and observing his fellow Hobbits, though Thorin could see his feet tapping rhythmically on the ground.

Some hobbits were forming a circle and putting their arms around each other with others quickly joining. Then they started slowly kicking their legs out and going left.

It didn't seem particularly complicated.

"Let's join them," Thorin said.

Bilbo turned to look at him so fast Thorin worried he might have hurt his neck.

"Really?" the hobbit asked with a hopeful expression on his face.

Thorin shrugged.

"Doesn't look too bad." From what he could see, it was just four or five simple moves repeated over and over.

What he'd failed to observe, however, was the changing speed of the music. When a grinning Bilbo led him into the circle, it was already going twice as fast as the initial rhythm, and the hobbits adjusted their kicks and jumps accordingly. Thorin tried to keep up, but just when he thought he'd got the hang of it, the music started playing faster again. He groaned making Bilbo laugh at his side and lightly squeeze his waist in reassurance.

The more the music accelerated, the more chaotic and out of sync the hobbits' moves became (and Thorin's too, but that was a completely different matter). And yet no one seemed to care. In fact, it looked like the faster the music went, the more fun everyone was having.

Even Thorin.

He kicked and jumped along with the rest of the dancers and when the song ended and another one started, he let the hobbit on his right lead him away for a partnered dance, and then a group one. No one seemed to care that he was a Dwarf and didn’t know any of their moves. The Hobbits just let him do his own thing without making him feel inadequate and Thorin had to admit — albeit grudgingly and only to himself — that he was having a good time.

He’d completely lost sight of Bilbo though, so after another lively song turned into a slow one, Thorin bowed out of the dancing circle and marched towards the food tables. He had not seen Bilbo on his way there, and the hobbit was not anywhere near the Party Tree either. Thorin was just about to glare at the dance area until it showed him his hobbit, when he heard a very familiar laugh to his right and whipped his head in that direction.

And there Bilbo was: dancing in the middle of a circle formed entirely by Hobbit children. His head was thrown back in mirth, his cheeks flushed from exertion, a happy grin on his lips. A grin that only grew when he spotted Thorin looking at him and gestured for him to join them.

Thorin swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat and went.

“Is this your friend, Master Baggins?” one of the little ones asked, shouting over the music.

Bilbo looked at her fondly and nodded.

“I like his hair,” another Hobbit child said.

“And his flower crown.”

“And his boots.”

“Can he dance?”

Bilbo’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Thorin with badly hidden amusement.

“I don’t know, Dudo,” he said. “Maybe you should find out for yourself.”

The boy nodded to himself seriously and took Thorin by the hand before pulling him into the circle. Thorin blinked at the child and then at Bilbo, who only shrugged.

“Go on, you two, dance!” another young one said.

Bilbo crossed his arms.

“And exactly what are _you_ going to do while we dance?” he asked, feigning a stern look.

“Judge,” a Hobbit girl said solemnly and all the children in the circle nodded.

Bilbo giggled and looked at Thorin.

“Sorry, I think we’re on trial now,” he said.

Thorin simply waved a hand at that.

“They have nothing on my sister-sons,” he grumbled and took a laughing Bilbo’s hand before twirling him around.

The little hobbits cheered.

“You’re not playing fair!” Bilbo protested, though he still had a smile on his lips. “I can’t do that to you!”

“That’s because you’re short,” Thorin said, if only to get a rise out of him.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and put his arms on Thorin’s shoulders.

“No,” he said, making them sway gently to the slow rhythm. “It’s you who’s unreasonably tall.”

Thorin smirked, put a hand on the small of Bilbo's back and went for a dip, to the children's excited whoops.

"Show off," Bilbo mumbled when he was vertical again. There was a slight blush colouring his cheeks though and he was clearly fighting a smile.

"They seem to like it," Thorin said, meaning the children.

"Of course they do," Bilbo said and pulled Thorin into a complicated side step manoeuvre.

They danced like that for a while, one trying to outdo the other for the children's viewing pleasure. Soon, however, they were laughing too hard to do anything else than sway in a close embrace while the little ones slowly lost interest and trickled away, probably to judge other people.

"That went well," Bilbo mumbled into Thorin's chest and Thorin chuckled.

"Believe it or not, it did," he said, trying not to simply put his nose in Bilbo's hair and inhale. "Once, when he was just a pebble, my sister-son saw me and immediately said, 'No!' before running to his mother. Turns out he didn't like my coat."

Bilbo giggled and Thorin could feel the little vibrations in his body. He tried not to shiver in response.

"I guess we're lucky that they didn't boo us," Bilbo said and slowly disentangled himself from Thorin's embrace. They looked at each other and smiled.

"Yes," Thorin said.

Bilbo's eyes were dark in the dimness of the night illuminated only by fairy lights. This close up though, Thorin could see specks of gold in them, shining brighter than the purest gold of Erebor.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said quietly, an odd tension in his voice.

"I—"

The sky exploded above them and they both jumped, surprised.

“Fireworks,” Bilbo said, frowning up at the sky while Thorin just frowned at him. Then Bilbo smiled. “Come, I know just the place where we could watch them!”

He grabbed Thorin’s wrist and started dragging him towards the Party Tree. And if at some point the grip shifted and their fingers intertwined, neither of them mentioned it.

 

* * *

 

"Here's your blanket," Bilbo announced cheerfully and threw the blanket on top of Thorin's head.

Thorin pulled it down and glared.

"I can still go and stay at the inn," he muttered.

"No, no," Bilbo said and threw a pillow at him. Thorin dodged it and glared some more. "I am a respectable Hobbit—"

"Yes, you've mentioned," Thorin mumbled. He got hit in the face with another pillow for his troubles.

"—and respectable Hobbits provide food and shelter to those in need!”

Thorin sighed. He had tried protesting at first. After all, it was not as if he couldn't afford a room at the local inn, or possibly even a taxi to Bree, if Hobbits had those. Bilbo, however, had taken offence to his arguments and practically frogmarched Thorin into his hill hole.

 _Smial_ , as Bilbo had told him angrily, in the middle of muttering about the stubbornness of Dwarves, also angrily.

Thorin didn't really mind staying with Bilbo. His home was comfortable, his food delicious, and the company... more than agreeable. Still, it had not felt right to impose even more on the hobbit and somehow, while trying to do the right thing for once, he had managed to offend.

Story of his life, really, as Dís would have told him. Once she stopped laughing, of course.

He had texted her after the fireworks, when he’d realized he had missed the last bus to Bree. He’d told her he had to do an important thing and expected the usual amount of nagging from her. Possibly even mockery of his sense of direction. But she had simply texted, _Just keep your ‘thing’ out of the news! ;)_ ” It made him groan and roll his eyes, and he might have gotten a little warm, but it could have been worse. Thorin decided to count this one as a victory.

He absolutely did not get warm again now from just thinking about the text, but he still checked if Bilbo had noticed anything.

Thankfully, the hobbit was still rather preoccupied with his pillows. Which he kept throwing onto the bed.

"I think I have enough pillows now," Thorin said, amused.

Bilbo only huffed and turned to him with a scowl in place and mouth already forming a retort. He froze like that for a split second as soon as he saw Thorin, blinked, and started giggling.

Thorin crossed his arms and glared at him.

"Something funny?" he asked sharply. Which did nothing at all to deter Bilbo.

"It's... sorry," the hobbit said, not sounding sorry at all. "It's just... your hair!"

Thorin's scowl only deepened.

"What about it?"

Bilbo took a deep breath and smiled at him.

"The flower crown is all smashed up now," he said. "And crooked. And tangled into your hair."

Thorin groaned. The wretched flower crown had managed to stay on his head the whole evening, to Thorin's great displeasure. It stood to reason though that it would not stay in place if Bilbo kept attacking it with more pillows.

Bilbo's own crown was still impeccable.

(And if Thorin imagined a different one on the hobbit's head, one of gold and mithril, and precious stones, he had enough wits about him to keep it to himself.)

"I'll just take it off then," he muttered.

"Here, let me..." Bilbo said, stepping closer.

They reached for Thorin's crown at the same time and their hands brushed. A current passed between them and they snatched their hands away.

"I... uh..." Bilbo muttered.

"That was..."

They looked at each other and held their gazes, Thorin sitting on the edge of the bed and Bilbo a mere foot away. Neither of them dared to move in the suddenly charged space.

And then half of Thorin's flower crown fell off and smacked him in the face. They both blinked at it and burst out laughing.

"Well," Thorin grumbled when he managed to get himself under control. "The crown has had enough." He flicked it off his face.

Bilbo, who had mostly calmed down, started giggling again.

“Seriously though,” he said after a moment. “I put it there. It’s only fair that I remove it.”

“Be my guest,” Thorin muttered and presented his head to Bilbo, even though the thought of having the hobbit’s hands in his hair again was a dangerous one.

And, sure enough, as soon as Bilbo’s nimble fingers started combing through his hair, Thorin had to try very hard to suppress a groan. He also quite purposefully ignored how close to him Bilbo was.

And then Bilbo tugged lightly at Thorin's hair and Thorin did not manage to catch a groan before it had the chance to escape him.

"Sorry," Bilbo said. "It got tangled a little bit here. Let me just..."

He pulled at Thorin's hair again and Thorin clenched his jaw as hard as he could without grinding his teeth into dust. His only saving grace by now was that Bilbo seemed to completely misinterpret the situation.

There was one last tug and then Thorin looked up to see Bilbo proudly beaming at him, the sorry remains of the flower crown still in his hand.

Thorin wished he could take a photo of him in this moment.

"There, all done," Bilbo said and stepped around Thorin to leave the room.

"Bilbo?" Thorin called after him, though he didn't quite know what he wanted to say.

"Mmm?" The hobbit looked at him over his shoulder.

Thorin just sighed and shook his head.

"Nothing."

Bilbo frowned at him and searched his face for a while before shrugging.

"There's a midnight snack on the dining table if you get hungry," he said and continued on his way out of the room. He paused again in the doorway, turned, and was about to say something, but in the end he just smiled and threw a quick, "Goodnight, Thorin!", before disappearing.

"Goodnight," Thorin whispered and stared at the empty space the hobbit had occupied not a moment ago. Then he blinked and groaned, and threw himself backwards on the army of pillows. "This is a disaster!" he muttered.

 

* * *

 

Thorin woke with a start and blindly searched the bed for weapons that weren't there. The smial was clearly under attack and Bilbo was a simple Hobbit, unable to defend himself...

He threw the blanket away, but in his haste to get out of bed, he got tangled in the sheet and fell to the floor with a loud bang.

He groaned and only then realised that the ringing he'd been hearing came from his phone while the banging was someone knocking on the door. Very intently.

Thorin disentangled himself from the sheet and grabbed his phone, half-listening to the sleepy grumbling outside his room. He swiped the screen and frowned.

6 missed calls and one message from Dís.

1 call each from Fíli and Kíli.

3 from Balin, 1 from Dwalin.

2 from Frerin.

And 1 from _Víli_.

This didn't bode well for him.

Thorin opened the message from Dís and had to sit on the bed in shock. His sister's message was short and to the point. _WHAT DID I TELL YOU, YOU MORON?!_ ,it went.

 _Picture attached_ , it continued.

A picture of Thorin and Bilbo in each other's arms during their dance. In the lovely faded colours of newspaper print. And yes, there was an article to go with that, and it went about as well as one might expect from sensationalist press. With an awful title to boot: “Erebor’s new consort already crowned and it’s not a Dwarf!”

And then there was the caption. Oh, the caption took the cake. It was almost as bad as the title of the article: _King Thorin and Bilbo Boggins locked in a passionate embrace._

Thorin groaned. They should not have included Bilbo's name in this. Now he would probably be harassed by—

Oh.

Oh no.

Thorin had a very bad feeling about all that banging on the door.

"Don't open the door!" he yelled and ran out of the room, praying to Mahal that it wasn't too late.

"What? Thorin..." Bilbo said, one hand already on the door handle. "Something must have happened if people come here this early!"

He was still in his pyjamas — dark blue and possibly silk. His curls were all over the place and his cheeks were still rosy from sleep.

He looked absolutely perfect like that and Thorin was going to do everything he could to make him stay that way — largely unconcerned about the ugly side of the world.

He could not let him open that door.

"I'm sure it's nothing important," he said.

Bilbo frowned at him and crossed his arms.

"What's this really about, Thorin?" he asked.

Thorin opened his mouth to respond, but a new round of knocking interrupted him. They both looked at the door, then at each other.

And then Bilbo opened the door.

"No!" Thorin exclaimed and launched himself at the hobbit.

Not fast enough though. As soon as the door opened, camera flashes started going off and reporters started talking over each other.

"Mr Baggins, Mr Baggins!"

"How long have you known each other?"

"Are you moving to Erebor?"

"When's the wedding, Your Majesty?"

"Why a Hobbit? Are Dwarves not good enough for you?"

"Are you a gold digger, Bilbo?"

"Was this holiday a ruse to meet with your Hobbit fancy?"

"Will Erebor finally have a queen now?"

"Who tops?"

At this point Thorin thankfully managed to shut the door.

They stared at it in silence for a while, listening to the muffled shouting outside. Thorin grew more and more uneasy with every passing minute.

"Bilbo," he started when he couldn't stand the tension anymore.

Bilbo only raised his finger to silence him. He stared at the door for a moment longer and then turned to Thorin with a sigh.

"Right," he said. "Breakfast, I think."

He started walking towards the kitchen and Thorin could only blink at him in shock.

"But... Bilbo, wait!" he called and went after him.

"I am _not_ having this conversation with you on an empty stomach, _Your Majesty_ ," Bilbo said, without stopping. Thorin winced, but refused to leave the hobbit's side. "Can you chop tomatoes?"

"You... you want me to help you with breakfast?" Thorin was rather expecting Bilbo to kick him out. Possibly yell at him before that.

"If it doesn't offend your royal sensibilities..."

Thorin frowned at him, but decided to do as asked to get back into Bilbo's good graces. As it turned out though, he really _couldn't_ chop tomatoes. They both blinked at the sorry mess on the cutting board.

"Well," Bilbo said with a frown. "You're lucky we're just making scrambled eggs."

He took the board with the poor, squashed tomatoes and put them in the pan.

Thorin hesitated, then took a deep breath.

“No,” Bilbo said before he could even form a word. Thorin frowned at the hobbit and opened his mouth to say something anyway, but Bilbo just lifted his index finger and raised an eyebrow at him. “Breakfast. First,” he said.

Thorin sighed and sat at the table.

"Fine," he muttered.

He lost all will to complain when Bilbo put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. They smelled and looked delicious and Thorin forgot why he wanted to have a serious conversation before breakfast.

"Thank you," he said and tucked in.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and said something that sounded suspiciously like, "At least they taught you some manners". Thorin would very much like to address this statement — very vocally and eloquently, of course — but he had his mouth full of delicious food. He liked to keep his priorities straight.

They ate mostly in silence, but not the oppressive one that Thorin had half-expected. While Thorin threw occasional glances at the hobbit, Bilbo was engrossed in his food and seemingly lost in thought. Thorin dreaded... no — _wondered_ what he might be thinking of.

Finally they both polished their plates and Bilbo turned to look at him.

"Let's move to the parlour," he said, already rising from his chair.

Thorin ignored the sudden knot in his stomach and followed the hobbit.

They settled in two armchairs opposite each other. Thorin felt a slight pang that they didn't sit side by side on the sofa, like so many times before, but he didn’t get the chance to dwell on it. A loud noise drew their attention to the window.

There was a scuffle, a whistle, and then the sound of multiple footsteps hurriedly approaching.

"That's my garden they're trampling!" Bilbo exclaimed, completely appalled. "Make them stop!"

Thorin only winced.

"Believe me, I tried!" he said and watched in fascinated horror as the reporters started climbing on each other and banging on the window. "There's nothing I can say that would stop them!" he said loudly as to be heard over the banging. And the shouting. Always with the shouting.

Bilbo pursed his lips and stomped out of the parlour. Thorin blinked at him and hurried to follow.

"Where are you going?" he asked when his pace matched the hobbit's.

"Bedroom," Bilbo said, clenching his fists.

Thorin frowned.

"If it has a window, they will still find you!"

Bilbo stopped and turned on his heel to face Thorin.

"That," he said and poked Thorin in the chest with his index finger. "Is." Poke. "Your." Poke. "Fault!" He accompanied the poke with a light shove this time and then continued his determined stomping.

Thorin glared at him, but as he couldn't exactly deny it, he reluctantly followed Bilbo.

Who was frantically going through his wardrobe.

"What are you doing?" Thorin asked.

"I'm getting dressed," Bilbo muttered, throwing a pair of trousers on his bed. Thorin glanced at the window, but there were still no reporters. "And I suggest you do the same unless you're fine with parading around the Shire in... well... this." He gestured towards Thorin who frowned and looked down at himself.

Well. Perhaps he _shouldn't_ be seen in just his boxers and a t-shirt. _If_ anyone was to see him.

(The reporters didn't count. They had certainly caught him wearing less on a few memorable occasions.)

"We're leaving?" he asked.

"Yep!"

"But... that's madness! They will just follow us anyway!"

Bilbo abandoned the shirt he was holding in front of himself and turned to glare at Thorin with his arms crossed.

"I am _not_ hiding in my own home like... like a burglar!" he said, annoyed. "Though you're certainly welcome to try!"

He scooped up a bunch of clothes and walked into the bathroom, leaving Thorin to his own devices.

 

* * *

 

“So this is somehow better than hiding in your home?” Thorin muttered and Bilbo scowled at him, his lips pursed.

They had been crouching behind some old wine barrels for about an hour now. Thorin’s knees ached, his pride was bruised, and his mood wasn't improving any time soon.

As he had predicted, the paparazzi didn't leave them alone after their daring escape from Bilbo's home. Via front door. On foot. Which had  clearly been very badly planned and Thorin had said so. Multiple times.

Bilbo had decided to be annoyed at him, however, and ignored Thorin's warnings.

Which was why they were currently hiding in the tavern's wine cellar.

And Dís said _Thorin_ was unreasonable.

"Do you think it's safe now?" Bilbo asked, peering over the barrels, as if expecting a reporter to just... jump at them.

"Well, I don't know," Thorin said flatly. "Why don't you go up and _ask_?"

Bilbo turned to him so quickly that Thorin nearly lost his balance and fell on his bottom in surprise.

"You know," the hobbit said with forced lightness. "This could all be avoided if you had just told me you were _the King of Erebor_. So unless you decided you _can_ go and just... order them to go away, you don't get to judge my methods."

Ah yes. They still hadn't talked about... that.

"Bilbo..." Thorin started cautiously.

"Just..." Bilbo rubbed at his eyes and sat down with a sigh. "Did you think I would care?"

"I... I don't know." Thorin sat down as well, both of them with their backs against the barrels. "I guess I just... forgot."

Bilbo looked at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly not convinced.

"You _forgot_ you're a king?"

"Well, I am on holiday!" Thorin said, a touch defensively. Bilbo just raised a brow at him and Thorin sighed. "It just... didn't seem important somehow."

"Seems a _bit_ important to me," Bilbo muttered.

Thorin glared at him. Why couldn't the hobbit just let it go? Or, better yet, understand him without Thorin actually having to say anything.

Bilbo sighed under his glare, his shoulders slumping.

"Never mind. Forget it," he murmured and looked down at the floor, his lips pursed. "Actually, I might go and see if they're still there."

He stood abruptly, a determined look on his face. Thorin grabbed his wrist before Bilbo could actually go anywhere.

"Let go of me, Thorin," Bilbo said.

"Then stay and _listen_."

Bilbo's nose twitched and his lips pursed unhappily.

"You know," he said. "Just because you're a king doesn't mean you can order me around. Now let me _go_!"

Thorin dropped his wrist like it was on fire and let his hand fall limp onto his lap. He looked at it as he flexed his fingers and didn't watch as Bilbo circled the barrels and started for the stairs.

"I am never a king with you," he murmured.

The footsteps on the stairs paused and Thorin panicked. He hadn't quite meant for Bilbo to hear him.

"What?" Bilbo said.

"Nothing."

There was a pause and then the footsteps started again, but this time down the stairs.

"No, Thorin," the hobbit said and came to stand in front of him. "What did you mean?"

Thorin clenched his jaw and looked up. Bilbo's eyes were wide and expectant, his face open and trusting and Thorin couldn't stand it. He jumped to his feet, startling the hobbit in the process, and started pacing back and forth.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said cautiously.

"I don't _do_ vacations," Thorin blurted out and promptly groaned at himself.

"Okay?"

"No, you don't understand!" Thorin yelled, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I didn't ask to be born a king," he said more quietly. "But I _was_ and I owe it to my people to do good by them. See to their needs first."

"And I'm sure your people appreciate it," Bilbo said, a slight exasperation creeping into his voice. Thorin risked a look at him. He had his brow furrowed and his arms crossed. "But I don't get what this has to do—"

"You made me feel ordinary!" Thorin blurted out and immediately winced. Bilbo's eyebrows went all the way up and he made a step back, his breath catching.

"That's... um..." The hobbit blinked at him, clearly hurt, and Thorin wanted to hit his head on the wall. Or possibly drown in one of the wine barrels.

"That is not what I meant to say," Thorin said and tugged at his braids in frustration.

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, but a loud noise upstairs drew both their attention to the cellar door. Then they looked at each other and ducked behind the barrels.

Just in time too, as the door opened right after that.

"...telling you I heard voices!" someone said. "And the light is on, see?"

Thorin felt a hand on his and turned to look at Bilbo. The hobbit shook his head and mouthed ‘owners’. Thorin nodded, only slightly reassured.

"That's probably Saradas’ fault," another voice joined the first. "He always forgets to turn it off, annoying little brat!"

"You should make him pay for electricity," the first voice said. There were footsteps going down the stairs and Thorin squeezed Bilbo's hand and sent him a questioning look. Bilbo's mouth tightened, but he still shook his head.

"Maybe I will," the second voice responded, amused. A stair creaked and a loud sigh could be heard. "Come on, there's no one in there! Just turn the light off and come back here where I need you! We have guests."

"You mean those awful reporters?" the first voice asked, much too close for comfort. Thorin clenched his jaw. If the paparazzi were here, they had little chances of escaping. They would get bored, eventually, or look somewhere else, but that could take time and Thorin didn't quite fancy spending the night trapped in the cellar. "They can bloody wait if you ask me! And I'm sure I heard something..."

Another sigh from the second voice and footsteps down the stairs.

"That was probably the reporters!" it said, exasperated. "You've seen how loud they are, practically no manners!"

The first voice seemed to contemplate that for a while.

"Maybe you're right," the voice said. "But if half the wine goes missing, I reserve the right to gloat."

"Yeah, yeah, now come _on_!"

Two sets of footsteps retreated and Thorin looked at Bilbo, whose face mirrored his own relief.

It was the last thing he saw before the lights went off.

"Oh, bebother it all!" Bilbo muttered when he door closed. "I really, really hate you!"

Thorin glared, even though Bilbo couldn't see that.

"It's my fault now, is it?"

"Yes!" Bilbo hissed angrily, but Thorin noticed that he still didn't let go of his hand. "Yes, it is! You were the one shouting!"

"Just turn the lights back on!"

A stubborn silence greeted Thorin's statement. And then, "You do it!"

Thorin snorted.

"Do you think I know where Hobbits place the light switches? You go!"

"Do _you_ think I live in this cellar? It's your fault — you should go."

"No."

Thorin felt Bilbo clench his fingers around Thorin's tightly.

"Then we'll just sit here in the dark!" he said.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Thorin scowled into the darkness and he could feel Bilbo quietly fuming beside him.

"You know, this is _exactly_ what I meant," Thorin said.

Bilbo froze and his hand in Thorin's grasp went limp.

"What?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"In Erebor, no one would dare speak to me like this," Thorin said. "Except my family. Not even my friends."

Bilbo's fingers tightened around Thorin's and then he tried to extricate them from Thorin's grip, but Thorin wouldn't let him. He pinched the soft skin between Thorin's thumb and index finger in retaliation.

"If you think I'll take orders from you, no matter how idiotic, I suggest you think again," the hobbit said, clear warning in his voice.

"No," Thorin said sharply, then cleared his throat. "No, that's exactly what... Do you know how... novel it feels?"

"To have someone disagree with your stupid ideas? Yes, I wonder how Erebor has even survived this long," Bilbo muttered.

Thorin gritted his teeth and swallowed the nasty things he could have said to that.

"I have been a king for so long," he started gruffly, "that I forgot how not to be one." He took a deep breath. "But you treat me like any other Dwarf and I..." He paused. "I guess I felt like there's more to me than just the crown," he murmured.

They were both quiet for a long while and then Bilbo squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

"There's much more to you than just your crown, Thorin" he said softly. "And I understand why you didn't tell me. But right now I'm hungry and tired, and rather cold, so I suggest we get out of here."

"And how do we do that, with the reporters still in the tavern?" Thorin asked, shedding his coat with one arm. It _was_ quite chilly in the cellar and the hobbit had only his flimsy waistcoat to protect him.

"What, Thorin..." Bilbo protested when Thorin let go of his hand. "Oh," he let out a soft breath as soon as Thorin's warm coat settled around his shoulders. They sat like that for a while and Thorin already missed the warmth of Bilbo's hand in his more than that of his coat. The hobbit cleared his throat. "Right," he said. "I have an idea... but you're not going to like it.

 

* * *

 

Thorin did not like it.

If the kings of old could see him now, they would probably deny any knowledge of his heritage and ban him entrance to the Halls of Waiting. None of them had to deal with bloodthirsty paparazzi, however, so Thorin simply clenched his jaw and picked up another wine barrel.

"We need a diversion," Bilbo had said and thankfully turned on the lights. "There will be chaos and we'll slip away unnoticed."

Thorin had his doubts about it, as he knew what those reporters were capable of, but he didn't really want to sit in this awful cellar forever, waiting for Dís to come and rescue him. He was his own dwarf, and a _king_ at that, and he didn't need rescuing, thank you very much!

Well, maybe he needed it a little. But somehow it didn't sting as much when it was Bilbo doing the rescuing. Maybe because they were in the same predicament and Thorin was actively _doing_ something to set the plan in motion. Even if this something was just carrying wine barrels to the top of the stairs.

"I think that's enough of them," Bilbo said, frowning at them. "Now we just need to roll them inside the tavern."

"And you are certain that this is going to work?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo pursed his lips. His nose twitched in that rabbit-like manner of his, and he sniffed.

"No," he said. "But we don't have much choice, do we? Unless we want to sit in that cellar forever."

Thorin winced.

"And we don't," he said.

"And we don't," Bilbo agreed with a curt nod. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the door handle. "All right, here we go. Remember, first one at a time, then two, and then..."

"All of them at once, I remember," Thorin finished for him. They shared a look over the barrels and then Bilbo nodded again.

"Right. Let's do this."

He opened the door and Thorin sent the first barrel in. It attracted attention almost immediately.

"Hey, what's this?" someone called. The barrel reached a wall, bounced off of it, and stopped.

The conversation at the tables ceased and Thorin used that moment to send in another barrel. It echoed loudly in the room that had suddenly fallen quiet and still.

And then someone called, "Free wine!", and the spell was broken.

Thorin looked at Bilbo who seemed equally perplexed by the scene before him. The majority of the patrons were the reporters chasing them and they descended on the wine with equal determination as they did on their victims. Thorin exchanged a shrug with Bilbo and pushed another two barrels in.

"Just what is happening here?" asked a voice that Thorin was pretty sure belonged to one of the hobbits that had come to the cellar. "Oh no..."

Thorin could feel Bilbo beside him growing uneasy. He felt the urge to take the hobbit's hand and squeeze it in reassurance and for once in his life, he didn't try to fight it.

Bilbo startled when he felt Thorin's fingers intertwine with his own and then he just stared at their joined hands for a while before squeezing back and giving Thorin a small smile. Thorin smiled back and sent the rest of the barrels in.

The tavern dissolved into chaos. The owners tried to bring back some order, but it was futile when the fight for the wine began in earnest.

Thorin looked at Bilbo who looked back at him and nodded. They quietly slipped out of the cellar and left the tavern unnoticed.

"Now what?" Bilbo asked when they were a safe distance away from the inn.

"We can't go back to your home," Thorin said, still looking around for possible threats. "Some of them definitely stayed there."

Bilbo sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Yes, I thought you might say that." He clenched his jaw and looked over his shoulder. They could still hear the noise of the tavern. "I'll have to pay them back for this. When this is over..." he said. He sent one last look at the inn and then turned back to Thorin, clearing his throat. "So what's the plan?"

Thorin sighed and pulled out his phone.

"Let me just call my sister," he muttered.

 

* * *

 

This was a mistake.

Thorin watched as Bilbo and Dís sized each other up, assessing, and wished, not for the first time, that he were an only child. Bilbo was holding his ground for now, but Dís could be relentless if she wanted to. Fíli and Kíli hovered behind her, casting curious glances at the hobbit and exchanging muffled opinions that were not helping. At all.

They had had very little problem getting into Bree. The paparazzi had not found their hotel yet, which was a small miracle. They seemed convinced that Thorin was staying in the Shire, with Bilbo, so they didn't think to check the buses out. Dís had been waiting for them at the stop in Bree. She had greeted them with pursed lips and a curt nod, and Thorin had known right then and there that she had decided to be difficult.

She hadn't said anything on their way to the hotel and was now silently staring at Bilbo.

"You can stay here for as long as you need," she said at last and broke into a smile. "It's the least we can do after my foolish brother made your life difficult."

Thorin blinked at her, taken aback. Bilbo seemed to be reacting in the same manner, but recovered quickly and smiled back.

"Thank you, Your Highness," he said politely with a slight inclination of the head.

"Oh please, none of that! Call me Dís," she said and extended a hand to the hobbit. Bilbo hesitated only a moment before shaking it.

"Can _we_ have a turn now?" Kíli asked, impatient.

Dís sighed and let go of Bilbo's hand.

"You have to forgive my son, Bilbo," she said. "He seems unusually immune to anything we try to teach him. Including _tact_."

She smacked Kíli upside the head. He yelped and looked at her with a betrayed expression that had stopped working on her ages ago.

"That's all right," Bilbo said,  thankfully still smiling. "I have a big family. I know how children can be."

Thorin smirked when Kíli started spluttering.

"We're not children!" he exclaimed. His brother rolled his eyes beside him.

"Oh, of course!" Bilbo said solemnly. "Forgive a silly old hobbit!" He smiled at Kíli who tried to cling to his pout but was now mostly failing. "You're Kíli, right? I hear you are very skilled with a bow."

And that did it. Kíli lost his pout and beamed at Bilbo, before dragging him away, already talking a mile an hour. Fíli grumbled something to himself and followed them. Soon they were explaining weaponry to Bilbo and the hobbit not only didn't mind, but seemed to encourage it.

"I'll admit I was sceptical when I saw the photo," Dís said from beside him, making Thorin jump. He frowned at her. "A Hobbit on Erebor's throne didn't seem like a wise choice."

Thorin sighed and massaged his temples.

"Dís, we're not—"

"I suppose I can see the appeal now," she interrupted and looked at him. "You have been meeting with him all the time we've been here, haven't you?"

"Not on purpose," Thorin grumbled and left it at that. He wasn't going to admit he had gotten lost _now_.

"You have been happier than I've seen you since you became King." He was going to protest _that_ , but Dís didn't give him the chance. "If you lose it because of your thick skull, I will dye your hair blue and steal all your socks."

Thorin glared at her.

"You wouldn't," he growled.

Dís only smirked and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You stink," she said and Thorin's frown deepened. "Go shower now."

"But—" he tried when she started physically pushing him towards the bathroom.

“Do you _want_ to chase him away?” Dís asked and Thorin just pursed his lips. “Didn’t think so.”

She opened the bathroom door and pushed Thorin inside.

“I don’t want to leave him alone,” Thorin protested.

Dís rolled her eyes.

“He’s a big hobbit,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll manage. And we’ll keep him company, so he won’t actually be alone.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Thorin muttered, but he was already taking off his coat. It smelled vaguely of Bilbo now and he might have sniffed it before hanging it on the wall. When he looked back at Dís, she was watching him with a smirk.

“What?” he growled.

“Nothing,” she said, still smirking. “But try using a bed next time.”

Thorin groaned.

“Get out!” he said through gritted teeth and shut the door in her face. He leaned against it, his cheeks burning.

“I’ll bring you some clothes,” Dís said, her voice dripping with mirth. “In case you’ll be needing them.”

Thorin almost tripped in his haste to get to the shower to start the water and drown anything else that could have come out of his sister’s mouth. He got a whiff of himself in the process and grimaced. He _did_ stink quite badly and a quick glance in the mirror told him that he still had pieces of the flower crown tangled in his hair. He sighed and got to work.

It took a while before Thorin decided he looked presentable again. His ears absolutely _did not_ turn red when he dressed in the clothes Dís had brought for him and he _did not_ practically run back to the living room, afraid of what his family might have done to Bilbo in his absence.

Though the hobbit didn't look particularly harassed. The boys had somehow roped him into baking cookies in their little kitchen, which he did with a smile on his lips. There was flour on the tip of his nose and a bit of chocolate in the corner of his mouth, and Thorin couldn't look away.

Bilbo must have felt Thorin's eyes on him, because he turned and smiled. Thorin smiled back, just the slightest twitch of his lips.

"Bilbo, these are divine!" Kíli groaned around a mouthful of chocolate cookie. "Will you bake us more in Erebor?"

And, just like that, Thorin's smile turned sour.

Bilbo froze, half still turned to Thorin, half already moving back to face Kíli. He dropped the spatula he'd been holding and it startled him out of his daze. He bent down to pick it up and when he straightened back up, his lips were twisted in an unhappy grimace and his eyes were big and terrified.

"Kíli!" Fíli hissed at his brother, who still didn't seem to realize he had said something wrong.

"What?" he asked, confused, and stuffed another cookie in his mouth. Dís groaned loudly from the sofa and muttered something unflattering under her nose.

"I-I'm..." Bilbo stuttered and his eyes flicked to Thorin for just a moment. "Thorin and I, we... the thing in the papers, it's not... _we're_ not..."

He seemed to have run out of breath and just pursed his lips and looked down at his hands.

Thorin could feel Dís' gaze on him, urging him to do something. He didn't need it though. Bilbo was clearly upset and if it was in Thorin's power to change that, he would. He took a deep breath and started for the kitchen. He stood beside Bilbo and put a hand on Bilbo's lower back, which made the hobbit squeak and jump before he turned his wide eyes on Thorin.

Thorin met his gaze and held.

It took a while, but Bilbo finally started relaxing. He even lifted the corners of his lips in a tentative smile, which Thorin easily reciprocated.

And then the oven started beeping.

"The cookies!" Bilbo exclaimed and hurried over to it seemingly forgetting about anything else. It made Dís chuckle from her spot on the sofa. "Thorin, be a dear and give me a hand here!"

Thorin frowned at him.

"With food?" he asked with disbelief.

Bilbo hesitated, then also frowned.

“Mmm... perhaps not,” he admitted. “If you can’t even chop tomatoes, you’re not safe around cookies.”

It sent Dís into a fit of hysterical laughter and Thorin turned to glare at her. When he looked back, Bilbo already had the cookies in the bowl on the counter while Fíli and Kíli snickered in the background. Thorin glared at them too.

“I think that’s all of them now,” Bilbo said and looked at Thorin with a smile. "Now, who wants a bite?”

Fíli and Kíli descended on the cookies like a band of starved wargs. Bilbo squeaked indignantly and then just laughed when Dís simply stole the whole bowl right from under their noses and ran away. The boys blinked at the spot where the bowl had just been, their mouths full, and then followed Dís with twin shouts of "Mother!"

Thorin shook his head at them.

"Is it too late to claim we aren't related?" he asked.

Bilbo giggled, his eyes sparkling. Then they both startled as a loud crash sounded from Dís' bedroom, followed by a scuffle.

"Well," Thorin said with a frown. "I guess that's it for the cookies."

A shame, really. Knowing Bilbo's skill in baking, the cookies were indeed delicious.

Bilbo just grinned and his eyes lit up with mischief. Then he opened the oven and produced a whole untouched tray of marvellously looking cookies.

"I saved these for you," he said smugly while Thorin just stared at him in awe. "I figured if your family is anything like you, someone might get greedy." He put the tray on the counter and huffed. "Didn't expect it to be your sister, but there you go." He smiled at Thorin, but faltered a little at Thorin's expression. "Thorin?"

Thorin just came closer, cupped Bilbo's face with both of his hands, and kissed him.

For a moment Bilbo just stood there, unresponsive, and Thorin started to panic. He shouldn't have listened to Dís. He shouldn't have taken Bilbo's affection for him for anything more than that. He shouldn't have—

And then Bilbo whined, grabbed Thorin's tunic in both his hands, and kissed back, just as Thorin was going to withdraw and apologize. His lips were soft and insistent, his mouth tasting vaguely of chocolate and Thorin was absolutely done for.

Eventually the need to breathe became too great to ignore and they just stood there in a close embrace, Bilbo with his face buried in Thorin's neck and Thorin tracing circles on Bilbo's back.

"They're just cookies," Bilbo said at last and Thorin chuckled.

"It's not about the cookies," he said.

"No?"

"No."

"Mmm..." Bilbo mumbled into his neck. "Liar! You just want a constant supply of free pastries."

Thorin chuckled and kissed Bilbo's curls. The hobbit sighed happily and squeezed him tighter.

"No one would fault me there," Thorin said. "They're exceptional pastries."

Bilbo huffed and poked him with a finger.

"Insufferable dwarf!" he said fondly. "I should have let you wander around Hobbiton on your own."

"I might have walked right into your garden anyway."

Bilbo snorted, and then giggled into Thorin's shirt.

"You're terrible," he said with enough affection in his voice that Thorin knew he didn't mean it. Then he extricated himself from the embrace and looked at Thorin. "What happens now?" he asked.

Thorin actually had an answer to this.

"Come with me."

Bilbo's eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise.

"To Erebor?" he squeaked.

 _Yes_ , Thorin wanted to say. _Let me see you on the throne beside me, with a crown of gold on your head and a braid telling everyone you're mine_.

"No," he said, because it wasn't time yet for such declarations. "Not yet at least," he amended. "We still have two weeks of vacation and as the Shire will be swarmed with reporters now, we will probably move on to the Blue Mountains soon. Come with us. With— with me."

Bilbo looked at him for a moment before smiling and reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Okay," Bilbo said and pressed a quick kiss to Thorin's lips.

"Does this mean we can call you Uncle Bilbo now?" Kíli asked, making them both jump. Thorin groaned, but it only made Bilbo giggle. "Hey! Did you hide these cookies from us?" he asked and sounded so scandalised that Thorin couldn't help but laugh as well. "Why would you do this to us? We're family!"

Bilbo just burrowed his face in Thorin's shirt and shook with badly concealed laughter. Thorin hugged him tighter and held.

**Author's Note:**

> This concludes the main fic, but there is a [bonus scene](http://atisenia.tumblr.com/post/155731314130/bonus-scene) if anyone's interested. It didn't quite fit the narrative and it's not... exactly an epilogue, but it happens after the events of the fic. And it's even sillier.xD


End file.
